First Response

BAYSWATER

According to the statement taken by Chief Superintendent Gillard, Zach Ahmed was a security guard. He had worked for a north London firm for the past year. Prior to that he’d worked as a security guard in Leicester. He was British born of Pakistani parents. He’d never been in trouble with the police, never even had a speeding or parking ticket. He lived in a block of flats in a road close to Bayswater Tube station in a four-storey terraced house that in the distant past had been home to a single wealthy family and their staff but, decades ago, had been converted into more than a dozen studio flats.

Kamran’s driver dropped them outside the building and went off in search of a place to park. There was an intercom to the left of black doors with fourteen buttons, each with a handwritten number on it. Kamran rang Zach Ahmed’s bell several times but there was no answer. On one of the buttons was the word ‘CARETAKER’. Kamran pressed it and eventually a man growled, ‘Who is it?’

‘Police,’ said Kamran. ‘Can you come to the door, please?’

A minute or so later a black man with greying hair and thick-lensed spectacles was standing in front of them. He was short and squinted up at the two policemen. ‘Is there a problem?’ he asked.

Kamran and Talpur showed him their warrant cards. ‘Do you know the tenant in number six? Zach Ahmed?’

The caretaker shook his head. ‘People come and go. I don’t know all their names.’

‘I’m not getting any answer from his bell.’

‘Maybe he’s not in,’ said the caretaker. Kamran wasn’t sure if the man was being sarcastic or matter-of-fact.

‘When did you last see him?’

The caretaker screwed up his face. ‘I’m not even sure what he looked like, to be honest.’

Kamran took out a photograph of Zach Ahmed and showed it to the caretaker. The man nodded. ‘Ah, Mr Taliban.’

‘Mr Taliban?’

The caretaker handed the photograph back. ‘You know, with that beard. He looks like a terrorist. No offence.’

Kamran frowned. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, he’s Asian, right? I didn’t mean to say that all Asians are Al-Qaeda.’

‘Just the ones with beards, right?’ said Talpur.

The caretaker put up his hands. ‘I said, no offence.’

‘None taken,’ said Kamran, putting the photograph back in his jacket. ‘Do you have a spare key?’

The caretaker nodded.

‘So how about you let us have a quick look at Mr Ahmed’s room?’

The caretaker opened the door wide, suddenly eager to please. He took them up to the second floor and pulled a set of keys from a retractable chain on his belt. He unlocked the door and stepped aside.

It took Kamran less than a minute to realise that Ahmed had gone, and that he’d cleaned up before he’d left. ‘The bird has flown.’ He sighed. ‘Fancy a coffee, Kash?’

‘I’d love one, sir.’

They walked to Queensway and Talpur grabbed a table at the rear of a Costa Coffee while the superintendent ordered and paid. As Kamran stirred two sugars into his, he shook his head. ‘I doubt we’ll be seeing Mr Ahmed again. In fact, I doubt that’s his real name.’

‘He might just have moved to escape the press,’ said Talpur. ‘The newspapers and TV people have been all over the hostages and the guys forced to wear the vests. I’m hard to find but a lot of them have had press packs camped outside their houses.’

Kamran sipped his coffee. ‘Let me ask you something, Kash. When they took the hood off your head in the warehouse, what did you see?’

‘Guys like me wearing ski masks and tied to chairs. All with suicide vests on.’

‘Did you see Ahmed, do you think?’

‘Difficult to say. We all had ski masks on. And we were all pretty much the same height and build.’

Kamran nodded thoughtfully. ‘And when they took the hood off, how many of you were sitting there?’

‘Nine,’ said Talpur.

‘Including yourself?’

Talpur nodded. ‘Eight plus me. Nine.’

Kamran sipped his coffee again. ‘You’re absolutely sure, Kash? Think carefully.’

‘I remember counting them. There was no way of telling them apart because they were all wearing masks, but yes, there were eight.’

‘Eight plus you? So nine in total?’

‘Yes. Nine.’

Kamran smiled over the top of his mug. ‘Don’t you see it, Kash? Don’t you see what happened?’

‘What?’ asked Talpur. ‘What’s going on?’

‘There were nine of you tied to the chairs and wearing masks. Shahid took one of the nine and killed him. That left eight. But there were nine incidents. Nine hostages taken. Nine jihadists on the coach.’

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ said Talpur. ‘You’ve lost me.’

‘One of them was working with Shahid,’ said Kamran. ‘It was all a set-up. They faked the explosion, put the hood back over your head, then the dead jihadist came back to life. That dead jihadist was the man who called himself Zach Ahmed. Which is why I’m sure he’s gone for good.’

‘But why?’ asked Talpur. ‘They didn’t get what they wanted. The prisoners weren’t released. The whole thing was a waste of time.’

‘Maybe not,’ said Kamran, adding more sugar to his coffee. ‘Maybe Shahid got exactly what he wanted.’